


The Proof is in... the Fries

by sebviathan



Series: It's 9:15 Somewhere [3]
Category: Psych
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Established Relationship, Friendship, Insecurity, M/M, Romantic Fluff, can be read autonomously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 11:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: A lunch date; greasy food, cuddling, and well-timed interruptions.





	The Proof is in... the Fries

**Author's Note:**

> While there is a direct reference to the events of _9:15 to Lompoc_ , this is a relationship development that doesn't NEED any context. Something similar would happen in most timelines.

"Shawn, this is... a heart-attack waiting to happen."

"And you put three creams and four sugars in your coffee, Lass. I think you can spare a little grease."

That's fair enough, but in spite of Carlton's uncharacteristically sugar-loaded coffee, he doesn't like to make a habit of stuffing himself with junk, especially not junk that was originally suggested by a compulsive-lying suspect. He simply has an intense need for caffeine with a contradicting inability to stand the taste of coffee bean. Doesn't mean massive amounts of cheese and grease won't destroy his middle-aged intestines.

"...I will have  _one_ ," he relents, and very gingerly picks up a battered, breaded, twice-fried, cheese-infused potato.

Jesus. Just thinking about all that goes into this makes his chest tighten in anticipation of the heartburn he's going to have later.

Shawn grins as he watches him take his first bite, and especially as he sees Lassiter's face upon swallowing.

"Attaboy."

"Okay... not gonna lie, Spencer, that's pretty good." Makes Carlton feel a bit like he's a teenager again, in the same sort of way that just being around Shawn in general does that. "But you should still know I was expecting something  _much_  different when you said you wanted a lunch date."

Shawn makes a face. "Were you? Really?"

"Yes! I'd at least thought you'd want to go to a restaurant—or that you'd prepared something a little more like an actual lunch and less like a  _last meal_ —"

"Oh, relax, Lassie, you're not gonna die. Gus and I have probably eaten about fifty of these each and we're still kicking! Though, admittedly, not as high. Gus did pull a charley horse the other day just lifting his leg up to tie his shoe..."

It's impossible to be sure whether or not any of that's true, and Carlton doesn't think he wants to know. So he just sighs.

"We can't even sit at a table?"

"And miss out on a little cuddle time?" Shawn says with a pout, scooting closer—and it's admittedly not so much  _cuddling_  as it is sitting thigh-to-thigh on the Psych office's couch, as Lassie has to go back to work within the hour and doesn't want to go back mussed up... but he'd prefer to be physically close in any case.

"This  _is_  your place of business," Carlton reminds him. "Potential clients could walk in."

"And they would immediately see the merchandise! Cuddling is just as much my business as psychic detecting is, Lassie... You know people actually pay for strangers to cuddle them?"

"Sounds like prostitution."

"Yes, but it's perfectly legal. Non-sexual touch is very important to the human experience," Shawn adds, hilariously muffled by a mouthful of fry.

As confident as he is that Shawn is joking, Carlton finds some bitterness seeping into him. Before a few weeks ago, it had sure been a long-ass time since he'd had any touch at all, sexual or not, and he knows how desperately he needed it, now. He still does.

"Well, if any lonely strangers are paying you to cuddle them, you better at least be stacking up an income from it," he mutters, finally taking another bite of his own fry.

"Sadly it's not a very  _successful_  business as of now," Shawn sighs. "So far it's just you, and for  _some_  reason I let myself get roped into doing it for free..."

And to make sure his boyfriend can't possibly take that the wrong way, Shawn promptly shifts both of his legs so that they're draped over Lassiter's, and arches his head up to smack a kiss on the side of his mouth.

"Mm—not while I'm  _chewing_ , Spencer—" Carlton covers his mouth and jerks his head out of the way, and Shawn laughs.

"So you admit you like the fries?"

"I—" He swallows, probably a little prematurely. Ouch. "I  _already_  admitted that."

"Touché."

"And if you keep trying to kiss me, I'm gonna get cheese on my pants."

"Easy solution—take off your pants!"

"Yeah, not happening."

 _Not right now,_  they both know he means. And Shawn can only assume he has a better chance of seeing those pants come off later if he does  _not_ , indeed, cause his boyfriend to get cheese stains on his slacks or anywhere else.

So it's lucky that the thing that  _does_  get him to jump and accidentally spill some cheese has nothing to do with Shawn, but merely the door being abruptly and loudly opened.

" _Jesus_ —"

"Shawn, I could smell the Fries Quatro Queso Dos Fritos  _from my car_ , you better—"

Gus freezes in the doorway, arm outstretched with his windbreaker an inch away from the coatrack. Similarly, Shawn and Carlton freeze in the positions they've been in, the latter's fry at an angle and with a long string of cheese dangling down.

"...have some left for me," Gus finishes, quietly. He slowly hangs his windbreaker up, but doesn't otherwise move or look away. "Uh, Shawn."

"Yeah, there's a few left, dude," Shawn says casually, holding out the plate.

Gus still doesn't move but for pointing in Lassiter's direction.

"Why are you eating Fries Quatro Queso Dos Fritos with Lassie, Shawn? ...And why on our couch? And why are your legs up like—?"

"Oh my god, you didn't tell him," Carlton snaps, much less a question than a gravelly statement of fact as he turns his head to Shawn and frowns—

"Oh, I told him," Shawn assures Lassiter, leaning back with a smirk and amusedly taking in both of their surprise. "He just didn't believe me."

"So..." Carlton retains his frown and glances suspiciously between the two of them. "You invited me here to—?"

"To prove it to Gus? No, I honestly didn't. I swear to you, Lassie, I intended for us to have a mostly quiet, albeit grease-filled little date. But two birds with one stone, huh?"

" _Shawn_ ," Gus says sharply, still standing in that same spot, "please tell me what's going on."

"Exactly what it looks like is going on, Gus! And exactly what I  _told_  you, like, two weeks ago. And at least three times since then. Do I need to spell it out? I got a few packs of alphabet magnets for the fridge if you want me to use them."

"I'm sorry, I just—I can't believe this, Shawn! It feels like a joke. You've pulled bigger stunts before and it  _has_  to be a joke—Lassiter,  _please_  tell me that this is a joke and that you're in on it... for whatever reason. Is Shawn paying you? Blackmailing you?"

"Um." Carlton is suddenly very uncomfortable—partially with Guster just staring at them while Shawn is all over him, and partially with the sudden reminder that there is cheese on his pants. But mostly with that he's clearly expected to say something, here. He swallows. "...Yeah, I think I'm gonna let you two work this out yourselves. If you'll excuse me, Shawn, I need to go clean this off before a stain sets."

As he pushes himself up with one hand, the last bite of fry still carefully held between two fingers of the other, Shawn moves his legs out of the way. And then, to make a point to Gus, slaps Lassiter's ass as he walks away, to very little reaction.

"You think I could pay Lassie enough to do  _that_  if he wasn't okay with it?"

Gus looks very distressed for several moments, and then walks over to take a fry. Stress-eating, clearly—and Shawn can't help but feel a little pissed off. What exactly is so  _stressful_ about this?

"No, I don't. But you can't just spring it on me like  _this_ , Shawn!"

" _Spring_  it on you? I told you as soon as I got back from Lompoc! You should be well-prepared by this point, Gus."

"That's exactly what I mean! You got back and you just say 'oh by the way, Lassie and I are dating now,' with nothing else—and considering the past  _thirty_  years of being your friend, it was the most likely assumption that you were joking, Shawn."

"...Well, frankly, I didn't think you'd want to hear the details," Shawn mutters, folding his arms with a pout. "It seemed like the best way to tell you, okay? Especially since we already had that whole conversation about—you know... the way I feel. About Lassie."

After another few moments of silence, Gus sits down on the other end of the couch. Shawn is already regretting this.

"So... he really feels the same about you?"

"What's so hard to believe about that, man?"

Honestly, in spite of everything, Shawn has had a hard time completely wrapping his head around that, too. He knows how much grief he's caused Lassiter in the past and how immature he can be, and it's crazy that the guy could still like him after all that. It's more or less the same sort of surprise that Gus has even remained his friend throughout the years.

But he doesn't need Gus  _adding_  to that.

"It's just—I don't know, you're so different! But... no, I'm not gonna lie, I thought about it and I realized that's mostly just on the surface..." Gus lets out a breathy laugh. "You're actually both insufferable and weird in a lot of the same ways. And I guess it's like you said—you know a  _lot_  more about him than I've ever even wanted to, don't you?"

Huh. Seems like this won't be too hard.

Shawn unfolds his arms and shifts in his seat. "I think the only person who might know him better than me is Jules. And maybe not even."

"Does she know yet?"

"I'm leaving that up to Lassie. I don't think he's ready yet—but he's also not exactly the best at hiding stuff like this, so she probably at least knows he's dating  _someone_."

"Well—okay, I know I've kinda been oblivious to your thing for Lassie for a long time, and part of that might just be because I've never had too much of a desire to  _know_  him... But if you're gonna be dating him, Shawn, I want to be his friend for real, too. Same as how you grill every single one of my girlfriends to make sure she's right for me. I mean, despite knowing him for three years, I barely  _know_  him, you know?"

"That's your prerogative, man," Shawn laughs. "You still get that it's  _Lassie_ —I'm not gonna stop you from interrogating him, but I can't promise he's gonna react any kind of way... And that there is exactly  _why_  he's right for me."

"I'm not scared of him, Shawn. If anything he should be scared of  _me_."

"That he should. But don't break out the jackal claws too soon, because I  _can_  promise I don't need any protecting. He's easily the biggest softie I've ever dated. Don't worry if you happen to see bruises on my neck, shoulders, or ass—"

"You can stop right there, Shawn."

"Your loss." He punctuates that with a bite of the last fry.

"I'm sorry, it's just... you get how  _surreal_  this is, right? Even seeing you all... cuddly with him, it's just weird. It's sudden. It's not a thing against you or Lassiter, it's—"

"What's not a thing against me?" Carlton says, walking back into the main room, pants now clean, and the rest of that fry making its way to his stomach.

Guster looks a little nervous. Shawn just smirks.

"He's just adjusting. I give him a another few days—and a little  _mano y mano_  with you, at some point."

Carlton raises an eyebrow and squares his shoulders. "You want to fight me, Guster?"

"Shawn's  _kidding_ ," he says, throwing his friend a look. "I just want to talk with the guy who's apparently dating my best friend. And... I do need a few days to make sure this isn't a fever dream or a benadryl hallucination," he adds under his breath.

"Great!" Shawn beams and scoots over to pat Gus on the back. "Well, Lassie, I was really hoping for a more private date, but..."

"It's fine," Carlton sighs, already walking over to the coat rack to grab his suit jacket. "I need to get back to the station soon enough anyway."

Then he makes a point of making _no_  eye contact with Guster as he buttons the middle button, crosses back to the couch, and bends down to meet Shawn in a brief kiss.

"If you don't mind, I'll take the rest of that," he says, and grabs the last, half-eaten fry out of Shawn's hand. Greasy as it is, it's good, and it's filling, and it'll be the only thing he gets to eat for a while. "See you tonight."

Shawn purses his lips comically far outward to beg for another kiss—if only to embarrass Gus—and gets Lassiter to roll his eyes, but then to quickly give him one.

After he's out the door, he turns to Gus with a grin.

"That proof enough for you?"

"Are you talking about kissing him, or sharing a fry with him?"

Shawn shrugs and starts swiping up crumbs from the plate.

"...Well, you don't need to prove anything to me anymore. I get it. Or I will in a few days. But—do me a favor let Fries Quatro Queso Dos Fritos just be  _our_ thing? It's too weird, seeing you eat them with Lassie."

 _Oh, Gus._  He's afraid that Lassie is going to replace him. Poor guy.

"Yeah, of course, man," Shawn says, patting him on the back again. "I don't think he'll mind."

**Author's Note:**

> The title is, of course, a spoof on the phrase 'the proof is in the pudding.'


End file.
